


The Melancholy Black

by LilyCarmenBlack



Series: THE RIGEL CROUCH SERIES [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Black Family (Harry Potter), Crouch Family (Harry Potter) - Freeform, Death Eaters, F/M, Pureblood Culture, Pureblood Politics, Pureblood Society, Slytherin, Slytherins Being Slytherins, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Triwizard Tournament, Wizengamot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 23:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13258425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyCarmenBlack/pseuds/LilyCarmenBlack
Summary: Rigel Crouch was a normality; Rigel Black was an anomaly. For seventeen years, the daughter of Regulus Black and Bathsheba Crouch had hidden behind a mask of blood purity and spiteful words, her soul tugged across a tightrope of light and dark. But, when unseen fears spring from a glowing cup, Rigel can't help but feel as if someone is pulling at her puppet strings.





	The Melancholy Black

****

**Disclaimer: I only own Rigel, Leo and Bathsheba Crouch; Titus Flint; Dina Prince; Josephine Nott; Calder Selwyn; Alaa Al Isa and Viria Malfoy. The rest belongs to J. K. Rowling and her amazing ideas.**

* * *

**Chapter One: A Ball to Remember**

If Rigel squeezed her eyes tight and allowed her thoughts to wander to the darkness of her past, she could just make out her father's voice, and handsome face. The notion was ridiculous, of course, for she was not quite two when her father was murdered, but still, the thought that she might have remembered him made her smile.

Of course, there wasn't really much to smile about in the Crouch Manor, especially when her grandfather was being a sourpuss, and although her mother often threw lavish parties and held spectacular balls, Rigel and her younger brother, Leo, were never invited nor expected to attend. It was during one of their mother's balls, did the two siblings find themselves surrounded by a various number of Pureblood children, as their parents and guardians, pushed the thirteen teens into the Nursery room, ignoring their spawns angry glared as they left their heirs to mingle and talk amongst each other.

The nursery wasn't really a nursery, not anymore, for the taking dolls, and magical train-sets which had once littered the floor when Rigel and her brother were children were long gone, thrown away the second the two turned four, and were replaced with practical, more important things. A pool table and a sofa overlooked the gardens, the cold moonlight shining through the guilder windows, while bookshelves and a chess table sat against the West wall. A fireplace flickered on the left, overshadowing the door that lay north, and flooding the candlelit room in an array of light and reflecting the dark wallpaper into a warm sheen of silver.

Rigel, like most of the other children around her, was bored out of her mind, and as she lay on a plush couch, dressed in a fine dress, she couldn't help but smile as Jo Nott turned her brother's hair bright purple. Having just turned seventeen, the eldest child of Maurice, and the late Christabell Nott, was experimenting, like many witches and wizard her age, except instead of Apparating around her home like a maniac, Josephine Nott was uncovering her new found freedom on her sleeping brother. A thin smile reached the dark-haired woman lips, her dark blue eyes glittering in the cold candlelight as Theodore mumbled in his sleep. For a brief second, Rigel wondered if her friend was going to turn into a purple dressed fairy, and flutter around the room, for the malicious grin that graced Jo's lips was enough to turn her blood cold.

Thankfully, her friend did not fly away, for before she could run off to tell her friend, Calder Selwyn had pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. The young Pureblood stood beside Jo, his strong jaw resting on the Easy Chair's right wing, his long arms encircling his girlfriend's silken waist. Having been betrothed since they were four years old, Cal and Jo had first become friends, before taking their relationship a step further when they were fifteen and sixteen. Jo had claimed that Cal had always had the hots for her, but deep down, Rigel had a feeling that she had like him first. It made sense, for, like many Pureblood men, Cal was the epiphany of gorgeous. With his dark brown hair and icy eyes, the young wizard towered over Jo, his tall frame almost touching the grandfather clock that sat in the corner of the nursery.

Leo was by the fire, his dark hair framing his thin face like a black curtain as he conversed with Tracey Davis. Tracey was a strange girl, with a Pureblood ancestry that stretched back at least four generations, she was what Rigel's grandfather liked to call, New Blood. With her honey blonde hair and dark brown eyes, she was a stunner, even at the young age of fourteen, and more than once, Rigel often caught her brother staring at his friends, his brown eyes peering into Tracey's own, as if afraid that if he looked away, she would disappear.

Rigel smiled, a thin smile rising to her lips as Tracey and Leo muttered about school, their excitement to return to Hogwarts pulsing through the air like music. Out of the two children of Regulus Black and Bathsheba Crouch, Leo took after their father the most. With his dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin and sharp, good looks, Rigel often wondered why no one had picked up which family they belonged to as her brother was the exact replica of their father when he was Leo's age. She supposed it was because she took after their mother, with her chestnut hair and green eyes, but still, the two siblings had enough Black characteristics in them, that people should have put two and two together, especially since they shared the same knowing smirk with Draconius Lucius Malfoy.

Rigel's cousin was lounging on a sofa beside a bookshelf, his lean fingers resting around the curve of a book, his silvery eyes zooming back and forth between the parchment's pages. Every so often, the blond would mutter a word to the chessboard in front of him, commanding a pawn or knight to smash Blaise's sixteen pieces to smithereens. The son of Adalgisa Zabini, (who was more commonly known as the "Gold Widow" for the amount of times she had murdered her husbands and stolen their gold), was losing sorely to the Malfoy heir, and from the looks of things, was struggling not to strangle Draco.

Draco's elder cousin, Viria Malfoy, sat beside Dina Prince, and both girls were giggling about some strange nonsense that ultimately passed Rigel's ears. Their friendship was an odd one, for Viria was the Princess in the Malfoy's world, and Dina was a Queen of Bats. Viria, with her silvery hair, and large blue eyes, was a beauty, who's precious looks was often caught after by many a Pureblood man, while Dina, was twiggy, with the personality of a vulture. She looked a little like one too, for she was thin, and bony, her pale white skin contrasting fiercely against her black hair and large owl-like eyes. At least she didn't have her cousin's nose.

Off to Rigel's right, playing a game of pool with Marcus Flint, stood the only foreigner in the room. While Blaise was technically Italian, his mother had basically shoved British Pureblood etiquette down her son's throat, which not only made his soft Italian accent practically disappeared, but it also made the dark-skinned teen a treasure among boys. From what Rigel could tell, there were many girls, Pureblood, or otherwise, preening for his attention, all wishing to hear the boy's native tongue and the pure chance that they might go to his ancestral home in Venice. From what Rigel could understand, Rigel just wanted to go home.

Viria was also half French, her mother's veela roots shining through, so much so that although the young girl had found a place amongst the girls and boys of Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons, but she was also half English, and was therefore classed as British, even though it was plainly visible, with her harsh accent, and pruning looks, that she was not. Her father, Galeran Malfoy, was the younger brother of Draco's father, Lucius, and from a young age, Galeran had been adamant that politics was far better in France than in Britain. It seemed Viria shared his same view, for whenever Rigel talked to her, (which wasn't often), the young witch would do nothing but speak of the French Minister of Magic, Bernard Laurent.

Alaa Al Isa fiddled with a cue stick, his brown eyes worriedly watching the heir of Flint as the ninteen-year-old stuck the white ball, sending the other balls around the table like a deadly wave. A few even spun down the holes, making the Egyptian's lips tighten in dismay. Marcus grinned, his sharp, trollish features softening slightly as he watched the man with a competitive expression. Unlike Marcus, who was big and burly, Alaa was thin and lean, his dark hair framing his face like a halo, making him look like a Pharaoh of Old. Cautiously, the young man approached the pool table, his fingers shaking as he struck the white ball, sending the others scattering across the table. There was a small groan, and a curse word in hurried Arabic, as the black ball fell down a hole, securing Marcus a well-won victory

The thirteenth and final teen sat beside Rigel, his tanned fingers trailing through her hair as she surveyed the room, as if waiting for one of her guests to suddenly turn into a mouse so she could pounce on them and devour them whole. Titus Flint, looked nothing like his elder brother, so much so, that when he was a child, he wondered if he was adopted. While it was true both brothers had different mothers, (Marcus' Dutch-born mother, Willemein, dying in childbirth), the younger brother took after his Swedish mother, Kristiane, rather than his father, Caius.

Titus had soft blond hair that framed a fairy-like face and a pair of enchanting silver eyes. Unlike his brother, Marcus, who resembled a troll, Titus reminded Rigel of an elven-king, for not only was the young man lean like a willow, but he was as sharp and proud as a snake. Maybe that was the reason why she had fallen for him, his mind over his looks, but if Rigel had to be honest with herself, she had always liked Titus' eyes, for they reminded her eerily of storm clouds.

'Did you hear?' Titus asked, smiling softly at his girlfriend.

'Hear what?' she asked, closing her eyes as he began to plait her dark hair. Even from behind closed eyes, Rigel could tell Titus was smiling.

'Your grandfather's going to be a judge for the Triwizard Tournament.'

'Oh,' Rigel muttered, folding her hands across her belly. 'Is that all? Good luck to him then. He'll be even duller than usual, then,'

'He's your grandfather, Rige, shouldn't you try to be happy for him!' Jo cried, pouncing on her friend's stomach. Rigel winced, green eyes snapping open, as the seventeen-year-old collapsed on her breasts, squishing close to her chest as they fought against her corset.

'Jo!' Rigel cried, digging her nails into her friend's arm. 'Get off! You're squishing my boobs!'

'They'll be fine,' Jo whispered, waving her friend away, as she stared up at her. 'Besides, I'm sure Ti won't mind what they look like, just so that you're naked.'

Rigel gave her friend a look, which was a mixture between "What the hell!" and "I know".

'Oh shut up,' she whispered, pulling on Jo's plait. Leo's face scrunched up.

'Ew! Jo!' Leo cried, plugging his ears. 'I didn't want to hear that.'

'Well, then maybe you should learn to stick your head in a loo,' Rigel snapped, raising her head to look at her brother. 'I heard that works wonders for big-eared idiots like yourself.'

'I'm not big-eared!' Leo groaned. Tracey snorted, eyes rolling.

'Yes, you are, dear cousin,' Draco drawled, grey eyes peeking over his book for a brief second. 'They look like elephants.'

For a brief second, the Ravenclaw looked like he was about to explode, but before he could snap, or cry, Viria squealed loudly. Jo raised her head, poking her dark eyes over the edge of the sofa, to stare at the blonde girl, who was clutching a stack of tarot cards in her hands.

'I've done it!' she cried, spinning around to face the other Pureblood heirs, a grin on her lips as they tried to figure out what she had just said behind her French accent. 'I've done it!'

There was a faint rush of moving fabric, and high heeled shoes, as everyone, (apart from Marcus and Alaa who had restarted a game of pool and Theodore who was still fast asleep) surrounded Viria, their curiosity for the girl's predictions growing with every second. Now, while most of the occupancy in the room did not believe a word that their various Divination professors uttered, the Pureblood children took great pride in the fact Lady Viria Marie-Louise Claudia Malfoy, knew her way around tarot cards. While Rigel usually took Viria's predictions with a grain of salt, a faint husk of truth always seemed to preen through the girl's readings. However, no one would really notice it until whatever she saw, happened.

Rigel, of course, was one of the last people to reach Viria, and from where she stood, could not see the cards at all. There was a desperate gasp from Cal as he stared down at the spread, his height becoming his gain as he peered over Draco's lean form. Blaise had managed to push his way to the front, and he was muttering to himself in Italian, while Jo tried to hoist herself onto Titus' shoulders so she could look over Dina. Tracey stood beside Rigel, eyes rolling as Leo jumped up and down, trying to see over the crowd of people.

'By Merlin,' Dina whispered, mouth open. 'That's impossible!'

'What's, what's impossible?' Titus grunting, fingers digging into Jo's thighs as the two teetered back and forth.

'Hey, loosen the grip, will you, Ti?' Jo grumbled, poking her best friend's boyfriend's head. 'You're hurting me!'

'Well, if someone hadn't decided to jump on me, then maybe it'd nicer.'

Jo ignored him, swinging her bodyweight forward so that Titus had no choice but to follow.

'What do you think they're looking at?' Tracey wondered. Rigel shrugged.

'I don't know, Tracey,' she replied, smiling softly at the blonde. 'But from judging how Draco looks like a goldfish, nothing good.'

'I'm not a goldfish!' Draco returned. Viria grunted.

'Be quiet, cousin,' her shrill voice snapped, 'I'm trying to concentrate!'

And it was then, in the commotion, and crazy piggyback rides, that the nursery door opened and the stern face of Bathsheba Crouch entered the room. Leo and Rigel's mother, although barely touching thirty-five, was still as beautiful as the day she left Hogwarts. With her famous chestnut hair and beautiful green eyes, she looked like an older, far grander image of Rigel, except she wasn't as tall as her daughter, nor was she as thin. Weight had begun to collect around Bathsheba's hips, as her middle-age years finally settled in, and small, almost unnoticeable lines decorated the corners of her eyes, pulling at her pale skin, that if it weren't for the lack of heavy makeup that covered her prestigious face, hardly anyone would have realised she was in her late thirties.

For a few, heavily seconds, Rigel's mother stared at the odd array of teenagers, a slight smirk drifting to her lips, as the teens fumbled into line, the sound of stamping feet and cursing numbing the air as they struggled to untangle themselves. Marcus and Alaa abandoned their game of pool, choosing to stand behind Rigel and Tracey, and as they passed Theodore, Alaa tapped the sleeping boy's shoulder. The purple haired boy in question, grumbled in his sleep, before turning his face away from the Egyptian's persistent tapping. When it became apparent that Theodore was not going to move, Alaa moved on, joining Marcus' side.

'Rigel, Titus, Marcus; Calder, Josephine, Viria; Alaa and Dina, you are all needed in the Ballroom. My father would like to speak with you.' Bathsheba said, eyes softening as she looked at her daughter. She turned her attention to the younger children in the room.

'The rest of you, entertain yourselves until the other's get back. Try not to make a noise. What my father is about to say is very important.'

Rigel's mother moved away from the door; her diamond encrusted dress shimmering in the candlelight as she left the door open for the children to follow. Marcus was the first to leave, his determination and willpower to show his parents that he was not entirely stupid masked that of leadership, and pretty soon the others followed him, the girls lifting their skirts so that dust would not accumulate on their trains. All sense of friendship had gone, replaced with hard faces and the loving couples who were standing close to each other moments before were now ten inches apart, their own personal affections hidden under the mask which each Pureblood wore.

The Crouch Manor, although vast and extravagant, was not as proud nor grand as the Black or Malfoy Manors, and while the family was indeed wealthy, it was also incredibly lonely. Subjected in the middle of nowhere, Rigel and Leo had grown up in the encrusted granite house, with nobody other than their mother, grandfather and the occasional servant to keep them company. While most Manors were practically empty, the Crouch home was unusually glum, because for as long as anyone could remember, the descendants of Eustace and Basilia Crouch had lived on the edge of a cliff.

Rigel winced as a flood of light pierced her vision, the smell of some meaty canapé clouding her mind as the sound of squeezing shoes, bubbling champaign and a violin drowned the air. Very few people talked, the Pureblood families more interested, for once, in their children. Bathsheba led the children into the middle of the room, and as soon as she turned to stand by her father, the teens separated into their different houses, the eldest boy, no matter if he was the youngest standing in front of their parents or guardians.

Marcus was the first to stand in line, for being the eldest he held the highest privilege, and he stood in front of Titus, his broad shoulders hiding his brother from view, that if it wasn't for his bother's blonde hair, Rigel doubted she would have seen her boyfriend.

Cal was next, being the only other Pureblood boy who was eighteen. Like many others, he stood on his own, no elder or younger sibling to accompany him, which in turn made him look very lonely.

Viria stood directly next to Cal, eighteen and alone, and as she stared at the crowd, her head held high, a cold glare raised from her, as if to say that she was still there. A tarot card was still sitting in her hand, and Rigel noted that every few seconds, the witch turned it, a nervous twitch travelling down her arm.

Dina twitched precariously, standing in front of her cousin, Severus Snape, with a worried expression on her pale face, her black eyes watching the Potioneer's own, as if waiting for his permission of breathe. Her cousin raised his head, shaking it softly as her lips trembled, reminding the witch that she could not speak.

Alaa fiddled with his tunic, the dark red fabric standing out a little too wildly for his comfort. If he was surrounded by Egyptian Wizards, he would have been fine, but here, among stern, stuck-up aristocrats of Britain, the son of the African Mister of Magic looked a little peaky.

It was Rigel who took up the rear, and she stood firm but tall, her back straight as she watched her grandfather with an empty expression, the rules her mother had taught her flitting through her head faster than a hummingbird.

_"Show no fear, or kindness, Rigel. Keep your expression blank, and your eyes hard. They will look at you like vultures, judging your every move, so don't move my Little Ram, don't move a muscle, or you will be penalised before you can breathe."_

For what seems like forever, the adults surveyed their children, watching their future with cold, harsh eyes, as they waited for someone to cry, to ask questions, to make a mistake. But no matter how nervous Dina looked, or how uncomfortable Alaa was or how Viria flicked her cards, the teens said nothing, and they didn't even relax, not even when Rigel's grandfather stepped forward, wine glass in hand.

Bartemius Crouch Sr. was not only the third of that name, but was also one of the most famous people in the Ministry of Magic. True, he had fallen from grace when his son, and Rigel's uncle, Bartemius Jr, had been convicted of being a Death Eater, but that still didn't mean the elderly man held the respect of many in his hand. He was old, annoying and usually grumpy, with thick greying hair, which had once, like his daughter and granddaughter were the colour of chestnuts. Blue eyes surveyed the eight teenagers, testing their obedience, and with a flick of his wand, (which had been hidden in the folds of his black robes), he dimmed the lights, making the tension ticker with each step he took.

One by one, the Lord stopped in front of each heir, peering down at them with a calculated expression. Each child met the man's gaze, their reaction to his stare the same: quite and stern. When he reached Rigel, the man paused, eyes travelling up and down, resting softly on her sharp collarbone, to where a strange tattoo lurked.

Unlike other Pureblood children, the Blacks had once been royalty, their lineage spanning across generations until revolutions rose across the world and they had to abdicate. The Blacks, in turn, had fallen to Lords and Ladies, however, no matter how many bloodlines passed, no matter how many years rules, the heirs of the children of Black, bastard or not, would receive the mark of their ancestors. It could be anywhere, the family crest and motto adorning any part of their body, and while some, like Draco, were lucky, as his mark lay on his back, Rigel was not so.

Carefully, as not to draw succession, her grandfather raised his hand, gently taking a strand of Rigel's dark hair and placing it over her mark, hiding the black stain of "Toujours Pur" that was carved into her chest. A thin smile danced across his lips, and for a brief second Rigel gave a tiny not to her grandfather, before the smile faded, and Lord stepped away, taking a long sip from his glass.

'Lords and Ladies,' Bartemius Crouch Sr. called, his face stern. 'Masters and Mistresses; Purebloods and Half-bloods. I welcome you today to look upon the worlds finest heirs. Together, they stand as one, the next generation leading purity and our most noble traditions into this new, modern world.'

Rigel's grandfather snarled his dislike towards everything new adamant in his voice.

'This year, for the first time in over two centuries, the Triwizard Tournament is returning to Hogwarts.' Lord Crouch turned towards the children, face harsh. 'These, ladies and gentlemen, are your Pureblood competitors. These witches and wizards are your champions and are all that is left from the Secret Twenty-Eight. These students, amongst the hundreds of students competing this year from Hogwarts, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, will be necessary. Each pupil is old enough for the new regulations, and it will be you who decides who puts their name in the Goblet of Fire,'

Rigel's stomach dropped, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Viria stiffen. They were voting for what? True Rigel knew that Hogwarts was holding the Tournament, for her grandfather had not stopped talking about it, but this, this was something new.

Suddenly, Rigel understood the severity, the dangers of what they were about to do. Each one, no matter if second born or not, was an heir to an ancient family who could not afford to lose a child. Even if none of them got into the tournament, then their lives were still on the line, for the reputation of their families were all held together by silvery spider threads.

Lord Crouch suddenly pointed at Titus, ignoring Marcus, (who of course, had left Hogwarts the year before), and the man flinched as Rigel's grandfather turned to him.

'Will you choose, Titus Flint, for Hogwarts? A strong, fair haired man, filled with a kingly manner, who's cunning mind is known to be stronger than Salazar's himself. Or, perhaps, you'll find favour in Calder Selwyn, a man who's renowned for his transfiguration gifts!'

Calder apparently used to fingers and eyes pointing and staring at him, looked as cool as a cucumber. Viria, on the other hand, almost jumped, her body shaking as Crouch's hand landed on her, and everyone's eyes suddenly whipped to the girl.

'For Beauxbatons, will you waste your time on an unknown French girl?' Rigel's grandfather mused, tilting his head to the side. 'Or will you choose Madam Viria Malfoy, a Pureblood, a witch we all love, and who we know well…someone we can trust to win?'

Rigel's mouth dried as the crowd muttered among themselves. This wasn't like any meeting she had ever attended! She and all the others were being bided off like they were some sort of main event in a farmer's market!

'Or will Miss Josephine Nott take your fancy? Will this beautiful enchantress cast her spell over the other schools' eyes and grab the trophy for herself?' Crouch sneered, staring at the dark haired girl with a rough look. 'You choose…'

Dina was shaking by the time Rigel's grandfather reached her, and from what the witch could understand, the young girl was muttering potion ingredients under her breath.

'Now, this here is Lady Prince, a woman whose skill in potion making could even rival her famous cousin, Severus Snape,' Crouch turned to look at Snape, whose eyes were glittering darkly as if the half-blood was daring the Pureblood even to try going further. 'Will Miss Dina be your pick?'

It was Alaa's turn, and as soon as Crouch's eyes landed on him, the young man stopped fiddling with his tunic.

'Here is the son of Minister Al Isa,' Crouch proclaimed, resting his hand on Alaa's shoulder. 'A son of Pharaohs, and while it has been many generations, the blood of Ramses the Great run's thought this man's veins. So will you pick Alaa as your choice for our Hogwarts champion? Will you pick the Pharaoh of Egypt as you Champion?'

Finally, he stopped at Rigel and pointed at her. Rigel hadn't really expected the fear that clouded her mind as the crowd turned to face her, their eyes preening at her as if trying to figure out her weakness…as if trying to find out if she was worth it.

'Finally, we come to my granddaughter, Miss Rigel Crouch!' Rigel stiffened at her false surname, the name her grandfather forced her to wear, as he was ashamed that his daughter had loved a Death Eater. 'Will Rigel battle her way forward, will she spread that Silvertongue of hers over the judges and become the Hogwarts champion? Or will she fall among the rubble, her voice turning to dust?'

Truthfully, if Rigel had, had her way, she would have screamed, pushed into the crowd like a madwoman, begging them not to choose her or anyone else who stood before them, but she couldn't, not when her mother's reputation was on the line.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' Crouch roared, reminding Rigel of the voice of Ludo Bagman when he had commentated the Quidditch World Cup earlier that year. 'I leave the voting up to you!'

Crouch's strange loudness suddenly faltered, and he gently tapped the wine glass with his wand, looking like the withered, old man he usually was.

'Now, I will ask the heirs to the floor, where they will dance, to entertain us,'

Rigel shot her mother a look. Dance? What dance? They had never been told about a dance!

Apparently, Rigel wasn't the only one who was worried, for her mother looked positively startled, suddenly nervous as she hadn't prepared her daughter for this at all. Rigel wanted to kick herself. She should have expected this.

Suddenly, Titus appeared by Rigel's side, hand pressed firmly on her waist so that when he spun her around to face her, he saw the terrified look in his girlfriend's eyes. The blond nodded, a tiny smile touching his lips as if to say "Everything will be okay. Just let me lead."

Rigel closed her eyes as the tiny orchestra began to warm up their instruments, the sound of brass trumpets and thin flutes causing the ground to vibrate. Closing her eyes, Rigel quickly preyed to her family deity, to Loki, begging him to watch over her. Titus gently squeezed her back, reassuring her that everything would be all right, as Rigel raised her right arm to rest on his shoulder. Nerves pounded down her spine that she almost missed the first step.

Titus guided Rigel into the waltz perfectly, masking any mistake she made with her skirt with thankfully was big enough to hide her two left feet. Maybe her mother had been thinking when she had stuck her in the damn thing. Her dress in question had been made from fairy wings, the tiny creatures meeting a cruel ending so they could be part of Rigel's dress, and while the young woman did love the shimmering material, she wondered if it was the most practical thing to wear for a dance.

As the two turned, Rigel noticed that Viria was being led by Marcus, the two eldest leading the dance like two swans. Even Marcus who usually looked like a troll was being somewhat graceful, although Rigel could tell that it was really Viria who was leading the dance. And then suddenly she was spinning on the floor, her upper arm strength key to move, and for once Rigel was grateful of her Beater skills.

The four partners twilled for a few seconds, the men sending their partners around the floor like four Lazy Susan's' that as they pulled them up, Rigel had to push her queasy stomach away as she was once again pulled into the waltz. It seemed Cal and Jo were dancing together, both perfectly matched as they danced. Apparently, both had decided to practice, for each step they took was fantastically done. Dian and Alaa were even doing well, although the two were a bit awkward, for neither really had done much dancing.

Soon, parents and guardians joined them, and Rigel lost her friends in the sea of witches and wizard. It was at this time that Titus loosened his grip on her arms, allowing the young witch to stumble slightly and go wrong, which was a relief as Rigel's arms were beginning to hurt. Out of the corner of Rigel's eye, she noticed that the family portrait, the one of her grandfather and grandmother, was moving slightly, and she couldn't help but grin when she realised that Draco, Tracey, Theodore and Leo were standing behind it, their eyes watching their siblings and friends with wide, but amused smiled on their lips.

'Just you wait,' Rigel muttered, drawing Titus' attention to the four miscreants. 'Just you wait until you're of age, and then you'll find out just how much we hate being paraded around like bloody show ponies,'

Titus grinned, leaning forward so he could rest his forehead on Rigel's own.

'That will be fun,' he grinned. 'They'll be so fed up, that I think your grandfather will turn blue,'

Rigel snickered, picturing her grandfather's stunned face as Draco, or possibly Leo retorting against Lord Crouch's wishes.

'Gods, I can't wait for that day,' Rigel whispered, smiling softly.

'Me neither,' Titus grinned, and before anyone could stop him, had leaned forward so that he could press a gentle kiss to his girlfriend's lips. The display of public affection, (otherwise known as PDA to the younger generation of Purebloods), was usually frowned upon, but hidden in a crowd of dancing so and so's in a darkly lit room, the two didn't give a damn.

Rigel smiled, wrapping her arms around her boyfriend's neck before the two separated as quickly as they began. With a mischievous glint in his grey eyes, Titus pulled Rigel away, weaving the young heir in and out of the crowd until they reached an open balcony. As the sound of dancing feet and crazy music identified, Rigel smiled softly, grateful to be away from the staring crowd and a mental bid.

'This is insane,' she hissed, as the two hid in the section of an alcove. 'I don't want to compete in this bloody Tournament.'

Titus shook his head.

'Neither do I, love,' he whispered, wrapping his arms tightly around her and pulling her close. 'I don't think any of us do…'

'Great, we're all being herded like sheep...like normal!' Rigel retorted. Titus rolled his eyes, blond hair tickling Rigel' forehead. Rigel sighed, leaning into Titus as the cold summer air blew up the cliffside, coating the young lovers in a frosty hug of Scandinavian winds and the harsh smells of the coming autumn. Rigel shivered, goosebumps running up and down her bare arms; Titus' grip on her tightened as he pressed his back against the manor wall, eyes watching the night.

'You cold?' he asked, pressing a soft kiss to Rigel's head. The witch rolled her eyes.

'What do you think?' she asked, as her boyfriend rubbed her arms, trying to get the blood circulating through her again.

'Better?' he asked.

'Not really,' Rigel admitted. 'But we best head inside. If we don't go back, we'll get in serious trouble,'

Titus rolled his eyes.

'I highly doubt that, they'll never notice us gone,' he said. Rigel looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

'You have met my grandfather, yes? The crazy wizard who's bidding us all off to the highest bidder?'

Titus scoffed.

'No, I haven't,' he said, sarcasm lining his voice. 'I wasn't called "fair-haired" just a moment ago, now was I?'

Rigel snickered.

'He was a bit stupid, wasn't he?'

'You can say that again,' Rigel whispered, smiling softly. The balcony doors opened, allowing the sound of chattering voices to echo through to the outside. Bathsheba's head stuck out from the Ballroom, her eyes softening when she noticed her daughter and boyfriend together, away from the madness inside. Rigel winced, stepping away from Titus as her mother was accompanied by her godmother, Narcissa Malfoy.

Narcissa was one of those women who Rigel was never really sure about. Although Rigel had known the woman all her life, she still was unsure if the woman of thirty-nine really liked her or not. Apparently, the woman knew who her father was, as did Draco and Titus, but unlike the other two, the woman kept her thoughts to herself about the matter, choosing to mask her thoughts with a paint of makeup and a sweet, sweet smile.

'There you two are,' Narcissa whispered, reaching forward to grab her goddaughter, and pull her away from her boyfriend. 'The voting is about to begin. They want you two in the Ballroom again.'

Titus and Rigel both sighed their faces dark. As Narcissa let Rigel away, Bathsheba stopped Titus, eyes suddenly dark and dangerous.

'You keep an eye on my baby this year, Mr Flint,' the woman snarled, suddenly becoming nasty. 'Watch out for her and keep her safe.'

'I always do,'

Bathsheba looked away, staring across the night. She suddenly looked older, far more like a mother than Titus ever thought she did.

'Something is coming, Titus,' Bathsheba finally responded. 'Something dark — I want you to promise me that you'll keep her safe, be the man my husband would have wanted for her.'

She suddenly touched her left hand, to where a silver wedding band lay wrapped around her left ring finger, the remains of a marriage long forgotten.

'Regulus would have liked you,' she eventually said. 'You remind me of him.'

'I do?' Titus asked. Bathsheba turned back to face him, smiling softly. She hummed.

'Yes, you do,' she turned away, ready to head back inside. As she was about to leave, the witch passed, her head turning back to face the teen. 'Oh, and Titus, you might want to remove my daughter's lipstick from around your mouth. It's most unseemly.'

The boy cringed, wiping his mouth with a corner of his robe sleeve, before he and his girlfriend's mother headed back into the Ballroom, ready to hear the horrid result of who would be the Purebloods' supposed champion.

For once in his life, Titus hoped it was Viria, for she at least, could understand what to do.

Rigel wasn't too far behind.

* * *

**Read readers,**

**I hope you enjoyed this. I certainly liked writing it.**

**Who do you think should be the chosen champion. Should Titus, Viria, Rigel, Dina, Alaa, Jo or Cal be chosen? Now they might not become the champion but this is who the purebloods want to compete, a sort of mini vote on which teenager can or cannot enter. Hope that helped in my explanation. I haven't slept so I might be a bit difficult to understand.**

**I hope to keep writing this story, for it's been kicking around in my head for a long time now and I've finally written the first chapter down so, I'm happy.** **Also, is this strange Pureblood ettiequte okay?**

**from**

**Lily.**


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